


anchoring

by willowcabins



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Target Practice, shooting practice, tw: depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcabins/pseuds/willowcabins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Beth wants to articulate this: she wants to tell Alison just how crazy, just how cowardly the real Elizabeth Childs is. But Alison’s thumb traces her lips and suddenly Beth doesn’t want Alison to know: she doesn’t want Alison to ever leave." Shooting practice was the only semblance of alone time that Alison and Beth could get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	anchoring

Alison gently places the gun on the hood of the car and looks down at the reflection of the light in the dark hood. She traces the warm metal and turns to watch Beth. Beth pauses and aims carefully: she’s trying to hit the last can off the stack over 50 meters away. Alison gestures for her to continue as she watches, a small smile pulling at her lips. Beth narrows her eye and levels the gun: its Paul’s marine semi-automatic hand gun that Beth took this morning to prove a point. She props up the base carefully and aims, taking slow deep breaths and squeezing the trigger slowly. The can falls to the ground with a light thud and Alison grins.

“How do you get such accurate aim?” Alison asks, leaning against the car. Beth pushes the safety and ejects the magazine, sliding it into her pocket as she walks back towards Alison.

“You squeeze the trigger with the tip of your finger,” she explains, “otherwise you pull your gun away from the target. I doubt you’d ever need such precision, though.”

“Neither do I,” Alison agreed, “Though you could always teach me just in case.” Beth laughs, tucking the gun in her back pocket as she comes to stand right in front of Alison.

“You just want an excuse to have me on my own,” Beth teases. Alison looks down, almost self-consciously as a blush creeps up her cheeks. Beth watches her for a second before she pushes a loose strain of hair out of Alison’s eyes. Alison looks up and Beth steps closer, leaning her forehead against Alison’s and looking into mirroring brown eyes. Alison’s breath catches but she doesn’t break the eye contact.

“Do you feel safe, Ali?” The question is a quiet whisper, almost lost in the wind that’s tugging halfheartedly at their clothes, reminding them that they are invading his terrain. Alison hears it though. Alison likes the warmth of Beth’s words. She listens to the musicality of the lilt and marvels at their difference to her own harsh accent. She blinks when she realizes Beth is waiting for her answer. Beth plays with the curls at the nape of Alison’s neck and Alison smiles. “I feel safe with you.” Alison’s reply is accompanied by her hands snaking around Beth’s waist, pulling Beth closer.

“I’m not safe though,” Beth whispers, a hand sliding into Alison’s hair. “I’m crazy, Ali: really crazy.” Beth closes her eyes so she can’t see the disappointment on Alison’s face. She swallows dryly. The reality she has constructed around herself is fragile, sometimes. Alison tilts up Beth’s chin, sliding her hand up to caress Beth’s cheek. Beth leans into the warmth of the touch.

“You’re the sanest, bravest person I know,” Alison promises and Beth’s eyes flutter open. She reads Alison’s face better than she reads her own: frustration and loneliness can’t belie the trust and safety she feels in that one moment, and that weighs on Beth. It hurts because every time Alison looks at her she is reminded she _is not this woman:_ she is not who Alison loves. She wants to be. She fights to be. But every day she loses. Beth wants to articulate this: she wants to tell Alison just how crazy, just how cowardly the real Elizabeth Childs is. But Alison’s thumb traces her lips and suddenly Beth doesn’t want Alison to know: she doesn’t want Alison to ever leave. She leans into the woman further, pressing her against the car as Alison replaces her thumb with her lips. Beth’s eyes close again as she opens her mouth into the languid and unhurried kiss. Alison pulls Beth closer, their hips grinding against each other as Alison adjusts herself against the car.

Alison’s hand in Beth’s hair tilts her head slightly to allow Alison to push her tongue into Beth’s mouth. Beth whimpers quietly, her own hands skating down Alison’s sweater-clad arms. Her hands settle on Alison’s hips and she untucks Alison’s shirt so she can slide her cold hands on Alison’s bare midriff under her jumper. Alison gaps into Beth’s mouth and laughs as Beth hums happily.

“You’re warm,” she whispers. Alison laughs.

“You’re cold,” she replies. Beth nuzzles Alison’s neck absently and Alison runs her hands through Beth’s much longer hair. They hold each other, peaceful, and Beth tries to remain in this one moment in time: nothing in the world matters but Alison’s hot breath on the top of her head and fingers running through her hair.

“We should get home,” Alison sighs, shattering Beth’s illusion. Beth shakes her head absently against Alison’s chest and Alison laughs. Beth looks up and cups Alison’s cheek again to kiss her. She pushes Alison against the car with a frenzy of a woman possessed. Alison’s nails sink into Beth’s skin as she drags the other woman closer, their bodies meshing together, fitting perfectly. Beth nudges Alison’s thighs apart with her knee and Alison gasps at the contact, nails dragging through Beth’s hair and making her keen quietly into Alison’s mouth. Alison hums in approval and laughs lightly. Beth loves that laugh: she loves that face and that smile and those eyes which are all so _uniquely_ Alison that’s it is impossible they're exact clones.

Cosima had been unable to answer Beth’s desperate question: the one she repeated over and over again, rubbing her head and biting her thumb as the science student inspected the apartment with detached curiosity. “How are we so different?”  Cosima had just shrugged and told Beth it was nurture.

Nurture didn’t make Alison’s smile literally pull at the heart strings in Beth’s chest; it didn’t make Alison’s hands in her hair rob Beth of breath; it didn’t explain _anything_.

Beth pushes further into the kiss, trying to relay her desperation and her love and her _loss_ into one action. Alison breaks the kiss, gasping for air.

Beth doesn’t want to stop.

Alison is watching her. Beth bites her lip.

“We should go home,” she whispers against Alison’s lips as the other woman exhales lightly. Alison stares into Beth’s eyes with a look of fear and hunger: she captures Beth’s lips again, her nails sinking into Beth’s shoulders. This kiss has become violent and needy and Alison pulls lightly at Beth’s hair.

“Never leave me,” she demands of Beth, her voice assuming her commanding tone. Beth laughs breathlessly (falsely), her hand still under Alison’s shirt and tracing the silhouette of her hip carefully.

“I’m not leaving you, Ali. Not _ever_.” Nails dug deeper.

“Promise?” It’s strange, reading your own expression on someone else’s face. Beth reads the insecurity and fear on Alison’s features and she wants to take them all away.

“Promise,” Beth responds, the words an anchor on her lips; a promise to keep her fighting another day.


End file.
